


A tally of a man

by saikowrites



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (kinda), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deconstruction, Denial of Feelings, Goro's a smartass, Heart-to-Heart, M/M, No Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Persona 5 Spoilers, Philosophy, Secret Santa, ShuakeshuArtistSecretSanta, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Telepathy, Video Game Mechanics, citing Plato for fun, that but literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:28:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28285500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saikowrites/pseuds/saikowrites
Summary: Goro Akechi is left-handed, charming, polite, and overall sickeningly perfect. When Akira accepts his gloved hand under the spotlights of a tv studio, a jolt of electricity is the spark that ignites an escalation that will change his life.Or: what happens when Goro Akechi is your soulmate, and you two end up sharing everything - even your very souls.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 24
Kudos: 121
Collections: Shuakeshu Artist Server's Secret Santa Fics





	1. Rank 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello [@lokipride](https://twitter.com/lokipride), I was your secret santa! You asked for soulmates and I delivered! (.....even too much maybe, I hope the word count isn't descouraging ç_ç). Your prompt really pushed me out of my comfort zone, and I hope I created something you'll like. Merry Christmas!
> 
> Important note: since this a divergence of P5 vanilla canon, Sae's Palace won't happen here. I played with the various deadlines a bit, but I put date references in each chapter for more clarity!

* * *

“Thus anciently is mutual love ingrained in mankind, reassembling our early estate and endeavoring to combine two in one and heal the human sore. Each of us, then, is but a tally of a man, since every one shows like a flat-fish the traces of having been sliced in two; and each is ever searching for the tally that will fit him.”

Plato, _Symposium_

* * *

**06/9**

_Goro Akechi is left-handed._

His palm, gloved in black leather, stands suspended in the air, an open invitation paired with a friendly smile and a beaming face.

“If it’s all right with you, would you continue sharing your thoughts with me?”

Polite tone, impeccable clothes, manicured hair to die for according to Ann. And that sweet-talking tongue that steals the spotlight and touches the heartstrings of the public. _Sickeningly perfect._

Akira blinks away the thoughts and stretches his hand in turn.

“I’d love to.”

Their fingers brush together, the air crackles in between, and a pinprick of pain stings his nerves like a jolt of static electricity, the kind he gets shocked with by removing his scarf during winter days. They both flinch back and wave their hands to dismiss the prickling under the skin. Akechi stretches his smile even wider.

“Maybe the use of plastic chairs isn't optimal, they should definitely abandon those. In the end, the public detains a key role in the successful outcome of a tv program, it would only be fair that those attending sit comfortably, too.”

He winks, and his palm returns back up.

Akira shakes it – the grab is firm, the leather cool and softly textured. A blue tarot card flickers above Akechi’s head: the Justice. He bites back a chuckle. _Figures._

He slips his fingers away and hides them back in the comfort of his pants pocket.

Akechi nods.

“Well then, I must return to my obligations. I have quite the tight schedule, you see.” He bows. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He turns on his heels and walks away. His arcanum keeps floating and turning on itself and – the back is different. Akira squints. A blank white layer covers the other side of the tarot instead of the usual texture, and a thin line composes itself in a sort of squared décor, like a still-empty frame.

“Akira?” Morgana’s whiskers tickle against his cheek, and the third eye loses focus. “Hey Akira, are you still with us?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Talk about a problematic guy to get involved with.”

“Seems I hit his detective’s intuition.”

“Take it seriously! He could arrest you if he discovers something,” he hisses. “Although, there’s surely a lot of things we can learn from him. Maybe it won’t hurt to just talk with him from now and then.”

Akira clenches and unclenches his left hand. His fingertips itch with a faint pain crawling underneath the skin where they brushed against Akechi’s the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	2. Rank 2

**06/29**

Akira leans against the concrete pillar of the Shibuya interchange, the smooth surface solid and fresh against his back. He scrolls through the Phantom Thieves group chat. A shiver runs down his spine and tones out the bustling of morning commuters.

Kaneshiro has sent another photo, a snapshot with the whole group standing in the room with packs of cigarettes and alcohol framed on the table in the foreground, to remind them of the deadline. _‘I didn’t respond though,’_ Makoto wrote, _‘and it doesn’t seem like he has any intention of leaking the pictures sooner than he planned.’_

His bag shuffles and Morgana pops out of it to read the message, poking him with his paws through the light fabric of Shujin’s summer polo.

“Don’t worry Akira, we’ve got this. We reached the vault area, and the treasure is definitely beyond that, it’s nothing we can’t do in ten days.”

He types the response on Mona’s behalf.

The hair on the back of his neck shoots up, and a tingling buzz spreads in his body in the same way it does in the Metaverse just before escaping an enemy ambush. Blood pressure plugs his timps and diffuses a low whistle in his ears. He pockets the phone and turns his head to the right.

Akechi stands in the passageway, closer to the wall and out of the stream of people coming and going, his left hand – bare – clutched on the handle of a silver briefcase with a black ‘A.’ stuck on its front. His other palm shoots up in an awkward wave.

“Ah, Kurusu, good morning. I feel somewhat spotted. Pardon me if—”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t busy.”

He smiles. “I’m glad to hear that. You seemed rather focused on what you were doing.”

“Oh, no,” he shrugs, “just organizing the schedule with some friends for—”

“The final exams, right.” He chuckles. Akira chews the inner side of his cheek. _Maybe it was too blatant an excuse if it was this predictable._

Akechi gestures with his hand in dismissal. “Anyway, I’m happy to know you’re serious about studying. I’ve come to hear that Shujin Academy can be quite unforgiving when it comes to grades.”

“Do you know someone who goes there?”

“Besides you? Yes, in fact, I do. But we’re merely acquaintances.”

Akira twists a strand of his fringe between thumb and index, and the whole conversation unravels in his mind: he gets asked about _his_ friends, a comment gets thrown in there about how they must be close if they study together and spend time together after school and – _no, dangerous territory._

He steps away from the pillar, the t-shirt damp against his lower back.

“How about you?” he blurts. _Well, that could’ve been phrased better._

Akechi’s eyes widen just that much that he seems to be taken aback by the question. But he flashes that affable smile of his, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.

“You mean in regards to my studies, I guess. Oh, don’t worry, it’s a question I get asked about rather often. I sometimes get permission from my school to skip classes to attend work matters, but I always make sure to compensate for the lost time.” He winks.

Akira nods. _Makes sense, yeah._

Akechi chuckles. “Did I strike you as someone who is very dedicated to studying? I’ll take that as a compliment.” He checks his phone. “And about that, I fear our time this morning has run out. We both have education duties to attend to.” He pinches his chin between fingers and leans forward. “Pardon me if I might overstep, but would you mind if we exchange contact info? I feel like we are somewhat on the same wavelength, and I’m sure this will make for even more meaningful discussions.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The smartphones load the LINE app and signal the registered contact with a beep. Akechi puts the phone back and waves him off.

“Well then, I must go. I’ll let you know when I’m free next time.”

“If you like coffee, come visit me in Yongen-Jaya.” The words are out on their own. “I know a place.”

“Truth be told, I happen to be quite the coffee enthusiast. Thank you, I will keep that in mind. Have a good day!”

He walks away and his frame disappears in the crowd. A loud _pop_ brings the chaotic chatter of the morning rush back to his ears, and the whistle quiets down.

The zipper of his bag shuffles and Morgana reappears on his shoulder.

“That guy is weird. Something doesn’t add up, but I can’t figure out what.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s right when he says we have an understanding though. It’s strange.”

“I would’ve said fishy. Listening to you two talking was like witnessing a chess match. Good job for omitting everything about the Thieves though.”

The speakers announce the next train, and the screeching of metal wheels slowing down against trails fills the station. The people waiting on the platform shift to form neat lines and leave space for the passengers to get out of the carriages. Akira adjusts his schoolbag and joins the other commuters.

_Maybe there’s truly something I can learn from him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	3. Rank 3

**07/27**

Six pieces, three of each color, stand on the chessboard, and the dim lights of the café create suffuse reflexes on the squares. Akechi’s black king is in the right corner of the board, H8, with a bishop in G6 and a knight in H6. Akira’s white king towers over the other in F8, and both his rooks occupy A7 and G1.

Akira takes a sip of tepid coffee and tumbles on the table with his fingertips. _What to do, what to do._

The timer on Akechi’s phone ticks the seconds passing, and the sound mingles with the lullaby of heavy raindrops sputtering against Leblanc’s windows. He shifts on the booth seat: the old leather creaks and the pants of his uniform stick to his legs like a second skin.

_Wait, if I take the bishop he cannot move the king out of there._ He smirks.

“Rook takes G6.” He captures the black piece. “It’s—”

“A stalemate, yes.” Akechi nods with his bare fingers pinching his chin. Small dimples form on his forehead where thin eyebrows curve down and press on the shape of his eyes. “I cannot say I’m not surprised.”

“Told you I wasn’t bad.”

He huffs. “Not bad isn’t equal to good. But I have to admit that your skills are worth noticing. Or maybe you’re just very good at reading your opponent.” He retrieves the smartphone and offers him a hand. “I should head back now, but it was fun. I hope we can meet for another game soon.”

Akira shakes it – it’s somehow fresh and very soft, yet the grip is iron.

“Anytime.”

Akechi gets up and picks his briefcase from the floor.

“Thank you for the dinner and the coffee, too. It was delicious. I almost can’t believe you’re still learning how to brew.”

“Wait until you try Sojiro’s. A whole other level.”

He opens Leblanc’s glass door, the downpour roars even stronger outside and the air is thick with humidity and petrichor. Big raindrops shine under the spotlights cast by the streetlamps. He extracts Akechi’s light blue umbrella from the stand and offers it to him, who accepts it with a smile.

“Thank you. I truly had fun this evening. You know, my work can be—”

“Stressful, yeah. Even if I probably can’t imagine how much.”

“You probably don’t, no.” The curls at the edge of his lips tighten flat. “But I appreciate the concern.”

He opens the umbrella and steps out in the rainstorm.

“You know, I’m starting to think we share something particular.” His words get mixed in the ceaseless tapping. Akira leans on the wooden jamb not to chase him and get too close. “When I’m with you, I feel I do not need to work for—”

“Understanding?”

“See?” he laughs, deeper than the usual chuckles, and it spreads a numb warmth in his chest. “I am looking forward to our next meeting. Have a good evening.”

“You, too.”

The curtain of rain envelops Akechi’s slender frame, which fades away under the storm and disappears around the corner leading to the subway station. Akira’s ears whistle and pop like he’s just emerged from a long dive underwater. He massages the cartilage, swallows, and passes his fingers through unruly curls, scratching the back of his head with short nails.

A thunder rumble and the boasting echoes in the empty alley. He locks the door, and the weight of the day crumbles upon him at once – he stretches, yawns, and closes the lights. _Tidying up can wait tomorrow morning._

He climbs the squeaking staircase and drops on the futon. Squishy paws land on the flat of his back.

“Jeez, at least put on your pajama.”

He shoves his face deeper in the thin pillow. “ ’m tired.”

He prompts Morgana to move with a shift of his hips and flips on his back. Minuscule dust particles float in the air, tiny dots of grey against the bleak lighting bulbs pending from the ceiling. _God, I have to clean the attic again._ He groans. Maybe paying Kawakami for it might be worth it for once – summer vacations aren’t made for fighting dirt.

A wet, cold nose nuzzles against his cheek.

“Is hanging out with Akechi this consuming?”

He scratches the fur between the ears.

“The opposite, actually. It’s refreshing.” He nips at his bottom lip. “He’s kinda demanding though.”

“Like attending a class?”

“Nah, I don’t need that much attention span to follow a lecture.”

Morgana puts his front paws on his chest and gently presses down.

“Either way, get off your clothes. Those don’t seem comfortable to sleep with, and you need to rest.” His tail flaps left and right. “You never know when the Phantom Thieves will have to clear another Palace and punish evildoers.”

He jolts up and sits on the bed. “Don’t tell Ryuji, but it’s not bad to enjoy the summer vacations like normal people.” He kicks away his shoes and retrieves the nightwear from under the pillow. “Our break started a few days ago, I could go another couple of weeks with just training in Mementos.”

He slips under the thin blanket and makes space for Morgana to curl up beside him. His little chest vibrates with a low purr.

“Maybe you’re right. Between Kaneshiro, your finals, and dodging Akechi’s snooping, you definitely deserved a little break.”

“I think he might have something but doesn’t have a clue on how to frame us. Or even how to confirm his suspicions, really.”

“Would he be this friendly with you if that’s the case?”

He yawns. “They do say to keep your enemies closer.”

“Right. But I know we can outsmart him.”

“Night, Mona.”

“Goodnight, Akira.”

The torrential rain washes away the entire world and hushes his mind to sleep.

Red, everywhere.

Long tunnels in half-darkness, twisting and turning in the distance. Miserable neon bars shred a feeble light on the road composed of two sets of parallel rails.

Akira moves in the shadows – the ignoble weaklings of Mementos shy away from him. Good. At least he can get straight to the target.

He takes a turn to the right, and a second one to the left. The wall of a supposed dead-end opens before him in a sick vortex of red and black. He loads the gun and steps inside.

A man faces him: short, chunky, with a sharp jaw and a squared face. His eyes gleam of a bright yellow hue under the shadow cast by the visor of his hat, which has the JR logo embroidered on it. On the lapel of his black jacket, a pin with his name: Ikeda Kōji.

“Who are you?!” the poor thing recoils. “What do you want from me?”

He raises the gun. The guy falls back on his heels.

“I did nothing wrong! My promotion was well deserved, it’s not my fault my colleagues are incompetent!”

“Stand still, will you? I didn’t come here to kill. Yet.”

It’s not his voice. It’s not Akira’s voice who’s speaking and it’s not Akira’s arm the one pointing the gun and it’s not his hand the one gripping the handle with dark claws.

_It’s a dream. I need to wake up._

The man begs more but the body he’s in doesn’t respond to his will. A mask gets ripped off the face he’s wearing and not-his-voice howls.

“Call of chaos!”

A subway train breaks through the wall and a high-pitched screech invades the secluded gallery. Mementos crumble upon itself, and everything shatters.

Akira gasps for air. The futon shifts by his side and he bolts up and against the wall.

Morgana stares back at him with wide blue eyes.

“Was it a bad dream? Are you all right?”

He exhales a long breath. With trembling hands, he clutches the nightshirt, damp on his chest. His whole back is a puddle of sweat against the cool and broken plaster of the attic wall, and strands of hair get trapped in his upper eyelashes.

“Yes. A dream.”

“Was it that bad?”

He swallows. “The psychotic breakdown back in April. I was the one who did it. In the dream.”

“You? But that’s impossible, you hadn’t even awakened your Persona yet. Didn’t it happen on the day you transferred?”

“Yeah…”

“Maybe you _do_ need a break…” Morgana mutters.

“Don’t worry kitty, I’m fine now.” He gets up on trembling legs and grabs his phone from the second shelf of the unit. “I’ll go downstairs for a bit. I need some water.”

“Okay but take it too long. And don’t call me a kitty!”

Akira clasps the handrail and goes down. First step, second step. Third step. Every tread makes the staircase protest. He lands on the café ground floor and flips the bathroom switch on.

Icy water is a blessing.

He splashes more and more on his face and his fringe, too, gets as wet as his skin. He closes the tap with a squeal. The mirror reflects his image, a boy with a nest for hair and dark circles under deep grey eyes. The inky black of his curls highlights the glowing pallor of his skin under the cold, faint light of Leblanc’s bathroom. He passes fingertips on his cheek and jaw – smooth, and free of the mask.

He draws the phone out of his sweatpants and opens the browser. _What was the name again?_

“Fuck.”

He digits the subway accident of April 9th and presses send. Pages and pages of articles – he skims through the first two, but the titles don’t help. He adds ‘train conductor’ to the research.

A man looks at him from a mugshot, his eyes wide and his gaze glassy. He’s got a sharp jaw and a squared face. His hair is kept short and leaves a lightly wrinkled forehead exposed.

Ikeda Kōji.

_It’s him._ His heart is a machine gun in his chest. _Holy shit it’s him._

He pockets the phone and goes back upstairs. Morgana has fallen asleep waiting for him, half of his front paws hanging out from the edge of the bed. He lays down on the opposite side trying not to wake him up.

The maddening downpour of the evening has slowed down to a lulling litany. Akira slides the window open in the slightest. Watery air grabs onto his lungs like a dense coat and raindrops tick against his skin.

A strangling lump knots in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	4. Rank 4

**09/24**

The dish soap irritates his skin, but Akira keeps rubbing with the sponge against the stains of dried curry on the plate. The straps and ties of his apron cut through his skin, and the fabric on the front makes the t-shirt underneath a wet layer stuck to his stomach. He adjusts the glasses on his nose but the bridge slides back down on sweaty skin. He opens the tap, and the water pours down, a freezing shower.

The jingle of the news segment trills into the café. The announcer greets the audience and proceeds to talk about the Medjed menace and the upcoming deadline.

He lowers the water pressure. _C’mon, say it. I know you want to comment about this._

Akechi clears his voice.

“Still no news from the Phantom Thieves it seems.”

Akira rinses the soap away from the clean dishes and grabs the towel hanging beside the sink.

“You sound disappointed.”

A huff.

“I suppose I can’t deny that. The Phantom Thieves have always struck me as very exhibitionist individuals, so I had expected they would have wasted no time to deliver a message to Medjed, who’s claiming they are the true hero of justice.”

He piles up the dried plates and puts them back in the cabinet.

“Maybe they’re just waiting for the right time. Secret plans and all that.”

“The deadline for the cleanse is tomorrow, Kurusu.”

_Fuck, I know._ He puts away the soap and leaves the sponge to dry. _If only Futaba would wake up._

“I guess it’s called ‘ace up on the sleeve’ for a reason, huh.”

Akechi eyes him from head to toe. “You are awfully confident.”

“I’m just a diehard fan,” he shrugs.

Red irises turn sharp. “Are you really?” he asks, overlapping it with his “I really am.” Akechi chuckles and raises his cup.

“Always in perfect shape for reading my mind I see. No need to apologize. Just, should you come across some dark secrets of mine, please don’t sell them off to the tabloids.”

Akira walks closer to the counter, extracts the designated cloth from a drawer, and rubs the smooth surface.

“What if I already know one?”

The yellow lights of Leblanc reflect on the wood and create golden reflections that shift as he moves. The water keeps bubbling in the siphons. He switches off the flame underneath.

Akechi lowers his cup on the small plate with a soft clink.

“Well, I suppose this place could be considered as such.” He traces the circular shape of the cup’s border. “Or rather, our secret, if you prefer.”

Akira’s heart drops. He seals his lips and fights a smile to form on his burning cheeks.

“Telling the internet you come here would be good for profit, I guess. But I think Sojiro will kick me out if I let some casuals into his coffee temple.” _Aside from Ryuji I mean._ He cracks a grin. “And besides, I’d rather keep ‘our secret’ as such, detective.”

The news segment ends, and the jingle from the TV fills the room. Akechi stands up.

“My, look at the time. I better be on my way.”

“You busy?”

He chuckles. “You seem more disappointed by this than I am. Yes, unluckily I have a rather urgent meeting.”

He folds the cloth and places it back in the drawer. Blood pulses in his ears in a low whistle.

“Nothing Phantom Thieves related?”

The warm russet turns cold. Akechi’s shoulders do a small jolt.

“…no. Not directly, at least.”

Akira’s hands itch. A scream spreads in his gut and courses through his body.

_Wrong. It’s wrong._

Stopping him would be impossible – it’s work, there will be consequences. His stomach rolls. _Consequences._ There’s something about consequences. He opens his mouth.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Akechi waves his hand in dismissal. “It’s not that boring or tedious, just… demanding. But it’s work, so I have to do my part.”

“It’s Saturday though.”

“Crime knows no time, Kurusu.” He retrieves his briefcase and tightens the knot of his striped tie. “I appreciate your concerns, but I will be fine. Police work, and detective work, in particular, can be very onerous but so is required for the justice system to work.” He adjusts loose strands of hair. “It might not be the best but it’s what we have. Whatever the Phantom Thieves have to say against it.”

_Certainly very much against apprentices overworking._ He leans back against the edge of the coffee shelf.

“If you need a break you know where to find me.”

“And I very much value that, I assure you.” He smiles. “Thank you for the coffee. You’re getting better by the day – even I can say that.”

Blood runs to his cheeks. He torments his fringe between fingers.

“Thank you.”

Akechi shoots him a side glance. “Although next time… maybe we could go somewhere else, too. I have other secret places to go to in Tokyo.”

He says it like an afterthought but a foreign tension builds in Akira’s heart.

“Sure. I’m always down to try something new.”

He waves goodbye, and the door closes behind him. Morgana’s head pops from his bag left on the booth seat nearest to the stairs.

“You two are strange.”

He laughs. “Are we?”

“You are! If only I could read Lady Ann the same way you predict that detective’s questioning every time…”

“What can I say, maybe I have a talent for that.”

“Well, you sure made a lot of friends during these months.”

Akira shoves his hands into the pockets. The other confidants are different – or rather, _Akechi_ is nothing like everyone else. Predicting what he might say comes naturally, understanding how he feels is visceral to the point where _he_ has a glimpse of it, too. He bites his lip. _Maybe I should check the state of the tarot the next time I see him._

“Say, Mona. How can you be sure the things you know about the Metaverse are correct?”

“Because they are!” He jumps on the table, despite every Sojiro’s rule about the cat in the café. “I told you… I don’t know how I know it, but I just feel that this is how the Metaverse work.” His whiskers turn downward. “Besides, it’s not like I ever let you guys down, right?”

“Of course not.”

He unties the apron. The tighter parts have left darker spots on his t-shirt. He strips out of it and rolls both items of clothing up in a dirty, sweaty ball.

“I’m not sure how to put it, but I feel the same about knowing Akechi. He’s obviously not telling the whole truth, but even with trivial things like coffee or how much he didn’t want to be where he should’ve been tonight, I feel like I can always see under the surface.”

“We have to hope it’s not mutual, then.”

He freezes. _What if it’s too late for that?_ Maybe that’s the point. It would explain a lot of things, from their ‘accidental’ meetings in the subway waiting for the train to how much time Akechi keeps spending at Leblanc, taking peek after peek of his life. _And all I get in return are nonsense dreams of someone messing shit up in the Metaverse._ Never a face, or a Persona. The voice is unrecognizable. Nothing useful. It might be the person with the black mask Madareme spoke about, but he never saw that, either.

He sighs.

“Let’s just go to sleep.”

“Are you worried for Medjed?”

“Maybe.”

Morgana trots upstairs by his side. “I understand that you don’t want to worry the others, but you can talk to me. I’m sure Futaba will recover in time to help us.”

_I hope so._

The response is glued to his tongue but can’t get past his teeth. Defeating Medjed is the right thing to do: it will save Japan and bring more fame to the Thieves.

_Fame._

He throws the clothes-ball into the laundry box. _Is fame really a good thing? Isn’t the timing too perfect?_ He unlaces the boots and sits on the bed.

“Taking down Medjed _is_ the best thing to do, right?”

Morgana hops on the futon. “Of course it is! If we don’t fight for justice, no one will, and the weak ones will have to pay for that.”

He nods. Morgana’s right, it was stupid losing sight of their goal just because the world is pressuring them – as if that’s the first time it happens.

He lays down and turns to face the wall. _Then why I feel like we’ve been tricked?_ He closes his eyes and his mind drifts away to sleep.

* * *

The bell of Leblanc rings and Futaba walks into the café. Sojiro wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and hardly stutters some words. Akira sips his coffee.

She comes seating near him and takes her cup.

“Which date is today? I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Uhm, Medjed?”

“Oh, right! Follow me, we can take care of that now.”

The weakening sun of late September warms the top of his head and the bare skin of his arms. Futaba strides with her hands crossed behind her back, humming a nonsensical tune, and keeps her head low – she goes straight on toward Sojiro’s house, and no one seems to recognize her.

She gets to work. And enters her own world of coding and numbers and system screens.

Akira cleans up her room, gets rid of the dust, washes the floor. His back hurts. He lays on the little bed and waits, the tapping on the keyboard a background noise that fills the room like a lullaby.

The carpet shuffles under the weight of the chair.

“I’m done!”

She cheers with her fists thrown in the air.

Morgana jolts on the bed.

“Is Medjed taken care of?”

“My room is clean?! What happened?”

“…Akira, please say something.”

He shrugs. “We cleaned it.”

“Oh, that’s good!” she claps her hands and curls up on the chair. “Now it’s time to rest.”

“Well, ‘night.”

Morgana turns his head left and right between the two of them.

“Seriously? That’s all?”

“She’s been working all day, let her sleep.”

“But what about Medjed?”

“She says that’s done, I guess it’s true. Let’s wait for an official statement.”

He frowns. “Weren’t you the worried one yesterday?”

His blood boils. _I am worried, just not like everyone else._ It’s not his fault they’ve been targeted by this huge ass hacker group out of nowhere. They never even approached cybercrimes, they deal with physical people and physical crimes, just not in an orthodox way, so if fucking Medjed announces a cleanse of the Country to make them expose their identity and a little girl who’s a teen super hacker says the problem is solved after a day of mashing the keyboard obviously it’s not something _they_ can debate—

His ears whistle. He rubs his eyes and adjusts his glasses.

“Sorry, Mona. It’s been a strange day. It’s just that if Futaba says she’s done, we have to trust her. I’ll let the others know she’s kept her promise.”

“Or seems to, in any case,” he mutters.

They leave the air-conditioned paradise of Futaba’s room and head back to Leblanc.

* * *

The next day after school, half of the sits in Leblanc are taken by the Thieves, religiously gathered in front of the tv.

“This morning, it was discovered that someone tampered with the hacker group Medjed’s website,” the speaker announces. “The site’s main page now displays what is thought to be the mark belonging to the Phantom Thieves…”

The faces of his teammates light up.

“Moreso,” the reporter reads, “the personal information of a Japanese man, a possible Medjed member, was illegally publicized.”

Ryuji clenches his fists in a little celebration.

“Medjed has yet to issue an official reply. Furthermore, their previously announced cleanse of Japan has remained unimplemented for now. Some speculate that they have taken the recent course of events seriously and decided to cancel their plans.”

The flash segment of the news ends. Electricity buzzes in the air, and the group exchange glances and smirks. Ryuji gulps down the half-empty glass of soda and slams it down on the table.

“Hell yeah! Best way to party after school’s back.”

Makoto sighs. “Can you please not break any of Boss’ glasses? He’s being kind enough to let us use the café while he’s away.”

“Man, I hope he can get to spend some time with Futaba y’know. They hella deserve it.”

“I wish we could do something more for those two, though…”

He waves a hand with a grimace on his face. “Don’t think about that now, will ya? We need to celebrate!” He raises his empty glass and the ice cubes crackle. “To the unstoppable fame of the Phantom Thieves!”

Other glasses follow the first and a cheeky ‘cheers!’ fills the room.

Ryuji eyes him. “You not celebratin’ leader?”

Ann pokes her head from his back. “Is something wrong?”

He startles as if someone just snapped two fingers directly in front of his face.

“Nothing’s wrong, no.”

“But?”

He shrugs. “I was merely wondering if fame is really that important, that’s all. What if it ends up bringing us more trouble than it is worth?”

The group goes silent and stares at him like he has grown a second head.

“Bro, are you for real?” Ryuji points a finger to him. “You’re scarin’ me, I swear you just sounded like that Akechi guy.”

Morgana twitches his tail. “I don’t like agreeing with Ryuji, but you definitely did.”

“Quit it, cat.”

“I’m not—”

“Anyway,” Makoto intervenes, “Akira isn’t wrong. Let’s just lay low in our everyday life and look out for possible threats. The timing of this is indeed very convenient, so let’s make sure it doesn’t go straight to our heads, okay?”

The group agrees and moves on to other topics.

Akira lays his back against the counter and crosses his arms.

_‘You just sounded like Akechi.’_

Something crawls under his skin, like an itch he can’t find the source of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	5. Rank 5

**10/11**

Akira wakes up and air can’t get out of his lungs. The room is a blur of cold moonlight and half-darkness. He flattens his back against the nearest wall where hard bricks scrape his left palm from a hole in the plaster. The pulse of pain adds up to the one of his blood going haywire through his veins.

He blinks.

The open space before him extends toward a staircase leading down and a banister hiding a pile of assorted junk. There’s the box with his clothes and the squared table with the old CRT tv and console on it.

“It’s just the attic…” he breathes out.

The futon shifts beside his leg and something soft but sharp presses against his sweatpants.

“Akira, what’s wrong?”

The contact hurts like a brand on raw skin and his stomach twists with the urge to retch.

“Don’t touch me!”

Blue eyes look up at him and a pair of black ears flip down.

“S-sorry…”

_Shit, it’s just Mona._

He lays his head back against the cool wall.

“No, I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

“Bad dreams again?”

He groans. “No, I just woke up like this.” He stretches a hand to pet him, but his fingers get blocked mid-air as if some invisible barrier is preventing him to touch anything, like forcing the same pole of two magnets too close together. “What the hell is happening lately?”

“Maybe you were right, and fame isn’t doing us any good,” Morgana mutters. “The Phansite is always cluttered with requests, too.”

“It’s been what, two weeks since Medjed? Where do all these people come from?”

“School mustn’t be helping either.”

He rubs a hand through the sticky hair at the base of his neck.

“I feel like I’m going crazy, Mona. Something’s wrong.” _I need to talk to Igor._ He hints at the sofa. “Would, uhm… could you sleep there tonight? I think I need some space.”

“Oh.” His voice cracks a little. “Sure. No problem. Call me if you need anything?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Morgana jumps down from the futon and trots to the other side of the room, and an invisible hand loosens the grip around his neck. He softly brushes his fingertips against heated skin and dries away the sweat with the back of his hand. _Nothing of this is normal._ Dreaming of driving people crazy in the Metaverse might be excused with pressure from phantom thievery and a fringe of Akechi’s fan accusing them of causing the mental shutdowns, but this. This is insane. _I need to know what’s happening._

He lays back on the mattress and sneaks under the covers. His eyes burn and his head throbs with dull pain from the temples to the nape. _And the week has just begun._ He does the math and counts the hours until the next Sunday and lets sleepiness overtake him.

Akira stabs a pointy red sword in the ground, and blood drips from its side onto a majestic white carpet embroidered with ruby and black threads. He uses it for leverage and stands up with a sour scream of protest from his muscles.

Before him, Principal Kobayakawa lays sprawled against a huger version of the desk in his office. His eyes shine with yellow, and his arms are stretched onward in a poor, last attempt to protect himself from him.

_As if._

“Your dreams of glory end today dear principal,” he rasps. “You know what treason entails.”

And it’s not Akira – it’s never Akira.

A gun is raised by not-his-arm. He wishes he could avoid the scene, but not-his-eyes stay wide open and focused on the target through a filter of red lenses.

Not-his-hand trembles. Clawed fingers from the other one support it.

The resistance breaks and the trigger is forced down.

Everything explodes with a bang.

* * *

Akira escapes from the commuting crowd and strides toward the usual spot where he and Akechi cross paths in Shibuya. He’s already waiting for his train, left hand holding the briefcase and right hand clutching a pocketbook. His shoulders flinch and he looks up from his read.

“Oh, Kurusu. Good morning.”

The skin just underneath his lower lashes is a tone darker, and the set of his back tends to slouch forward in the slightest, yet his voice is as clear as day.

Akira waves his hand. “ ‘morning.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be of much company today. I have a rather urgent meeting with a teacher before the start of my classes, so I need to get to school as soon as possible.”

_He’s trying to avoid me._

“Nothing too stressful I hope?”

“Oh, no,” his tone trails off, “you don’t have to worry about that one.”

The speakers announce the train entering the station, and Akechi closes his book with a quick squeeze of his gloved fingers.

“I hope we can hang out together anytime soon. I’ll think about somewhere new to visit,” he smiles but it doesn’t reach the eyes. “Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

His third eye kicks in and the blue tarot glimmers above Akechi’s head. The back of the card is still stripped of the texture that compares all the other bonds, but the blank slate is covered with a light blue hue and the outline of a picture.

Akira gasps.

A full illustration is unraveling on the surface, not complete yet but its shapes are familiar. A man carrying something on his shoulder and with his other hand holding a stick. A blotch of darker blue stands beside the man’s leg, maybe an animal of sorts.

A cold shiver runs down his spine.

_It looks very much like Igor’s tarot._

A series of short vibrations shake the pocket of his pants. Makoto sent something in the group chat: _‘Guys I had to run to school before lessons. Principal Kobayakawa died last night.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	6. Rank 6

**10/30**

Akira’s ears whistle.

Noises flow in muffled and slowed down as if his eardrums have been covered in cotton. He activates the third eye and every color wash away from the production line of Okumura’s Palace, some objects shine with a golden glow, but the maddening whistle covers everything.

There’s one of the air conducts that runs along on the ceiling of the area, a large parallelepiped of a faded tone of grey. It must be dozens of meters above them, too far high for his third eye to grasp what’s inside.

“Joker?”

Futaba snaps two fingers beside his head. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

_The conduct has no vents._

He wets his lips. “Could you scan that air conduct?”

“For a hidden shortcut, you mean?” She types on her greenish holographic keyboard and shakes her head. “According to the map it starts near that treasure chest we found earlier and ends on the other side of this area. It’d be cool if we could use to traverse this section of the production line, but the entrance is sealed – I don’t think we can access it.”

“Any hidden treasure inside?”

“None. I don’t get any particular reading and besides, your instinct for treasure is usually accurate enough. Are we missing something?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think so. Let’s move.”

The thrill in his blood makes his hands quiver.

_Not something. Someone._

They’re missing someone, who’s hidden up above and has been following them since they entered the Metaverse. Someone skilled enough to completely erase his presence and sneak past Futaba’s radar while also keeping his distance to stay out of the third eye’s range. But still, his body is screaming that some person is near, the same way it reacts whenever Akechi—

He freezes.

_It’s Akechi up there._

His head jolts up.

_Why’s he in the Metaverse?_

A chuckle echoes inside his mind, lower than any others coming from Akechi, and the missing piece clicks in place – it’s the same voice of his dreams.

_“I’m it. Good job, Joker. Meet me outside, we have a question to settle.”_

He swallows. His throat is dry, his lips drier. His skin flares up as if a kotatsu duvet covered his arms instead of the cool leather of his coat. His heart beats a desperate tempo.

“Joker?”

Makoto turns back and points behind her shoulders.

“There are enemies up ahead. Should we engage them? You… don’t look good.”

“No, it’s… enough for today.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Nothing serious but I should report to Takemi. Maybe one of her medicines could use some touch-ups.”

Her lips tense, and her glare sharpens, inquisitory, but she nods.

“All right. Let’s head back then. Is the fast route clear, Oracle?”

“Affirmative! This way.”

They traverse the Palace back and return to the entrance. Akira retrieves the phone from his pocket and prompts the MetaNav to take them back to the real world. The Okumura Foods headquarters materialize back into view – few workers tread through the open space outside of the main building, and the tiled floor gleams with orange reflections from the dying rays of the day.

He lets one of the handles of his schoolbag slip down his arm.

“Sorry Mona, I need to check some things tonight. Do you mind staying with Haru?”

He jumps down, and his watery blue eyes stare through him.

“No, but… you will be fine, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll let you know if something happens.”

Futaba stands at attention.

“Just drop by if you’re sick. Sojiro won’t have the heart to leave you alone in that attic.”

“Sure.” He waves his hand and raises the phone. “I’ll call Takemi right away. See you all tomorrow.”

The group waves him back and sets off to the nearest subway station – Haru and Morgana shoot him glances behind their shoulders but proceed forward and disappear with the others past the corner.

He walks toward the thick red frame of an information panel with the map of the complex displayed on it and lays his back against the smooth plastic, hands hidden in his pockets.

_I know you’re here._

_Akechi snickers.  
“Of course you do. Too tired to actually talk?”_

_Just wanted to make sure this lasts outside of the Metaverse, too._

He clears his voice. “I’m alone. We can talk.”

The panel trembles as if some weight has been removed from it, and Akechi appears in front of him, his hands free from the briefcase. His eyebrows are slightly pressed above his eyes, cut sharper, and his mouth is a flat line that only curves downward with the corners, the most uncaring display of discontent Akira has ever witnessed.

“I won’t mince my words. You were already being a painful hindrance on your own, but _this_ is detestable.” He crosses his arms. “Don’t make that face, I know you always suspected the pleasant façade was nothing more than that.”

“How long have you been aware of the Metaverse?”

He falters. “Months.”

“Liar,” Akira blurts out. “It’s been years.”

“God, this is such bullshit.”

A wave of pain spreads in Akira’s gut, a concentrated heat that boils and seeps through his blood and makes his hands itch. He clenches his fists to block the scream that isn’t his.

“You hate me,” he thinks aloud. “Right now, you – wait, it’s not only right now.” He chews the inner part of his cheek. “I’m doing something that you can’t stand.”

A jolt down his spine. One single word takes shape in his mind and rolls on his tongue.

_Plan._

Akechi glares at him like he’d incinerate him right now given the possibility.

“There’s no point in denying that. Yes, I hate you. You and your stupid group of friends, so busy playing heroes of justice.” He shakes his head. “You’re nothing more than a band of self-entitled fools, but even that would have come in hand eventually. If it weren’t for this.”

Akira blinks. All the past months flow in his head and everything assembles back together.

“You’re the one behind the mental shutdown cases. You – you even set us up against Medjed.”

“See? You know too many things. As I do.” He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. “We’re at an impasse. It’s clear that none of our… ambitions can proceed further as things are now. But it’s fine, I’ll just have to move up the schedule a bit,” he laughs. “Let’s settle things _now._ ”

A seizure in his heart. _He was going to kill me._

Akechi flashes a cocky smirk.

“I can feel your hurt. It’s sweet, really. Almost a pity it got spoiled this way.” He shrugs. “Alas, it is as it is. I don’t know where this connection comes from, but I’ll put an end to it. Today. Care to follow me in Mementos?”

“But then nobody would know—”

“Yes,” he smiles. “Precisely. The only thing holding me back from sticking a bullet in the middle of your chest right now is the security cameras. Which, by the way, is embarrassing of you Thieves to having completely forgotten about.” He sighs. “We’ve exposed each other. If you snitch on me, you’d have to expose yourself, too, and if I kill you in plain sight, I risk giving away my position.” He turns towards the road and gestures him to come. “This is my only warning, Kurusu. And don’t expect fair play.”

Akira strides by his side and they walk to the station. The air crackles where their shoulders almost touch.

* * *

A dark blue and grey striped suit covers Akechi’s body. The metal parts of his outfit – the gauntlets, the buckles of his belts, the buttons securing the tarnished cap – sparkle of red reflexes under the lights of Mementos. A thick helmet covers his head, and a black pointed mask with red lenses his face.

_It was really him in my dreams._

Akira spins the dagger in his hand and steadies his body. _Better start prepared_. He calls for Scathach: curse block and ice repel, no weaknesses.

Akechi materializes the red sword with the jagged blade and points it against him.

“Just one of us will walk out of Mementos tonight, Joker. Underestimate me and you’re done for.”

He charges forward, Akira dodges with the blade hissing beside his head and rolls on the ground to escape from a hail of bullets. He casts a Magarula spell that just skims over Akechi but raises a dense cloud of dust from the floor.

He slithers against the wall and the gallery turns grey and even more lifeless, just the bright blue of a tarot card shines in his vision. He boosts his attack and tightens the grip against the dagger’s handle but a burst of curse blinds him with the third eye still active. Scathach blocks the spell but a million red and black particles dot his vision.

Akira switches to Kushinada for a fast heal of his eyes but a shockwave hits him right in the chest – the back of his head crashes against the wall and the impact breaks one of the neon bars. Sparks of electricity fall from the chopped cables, cackling in the air and biting his body with quick shocks. His skull pulses.

He spits blood and casts a Mediarama and the world shifts back in focus. Akechi stands by the opposite wall, a reddish glow engulfs his frame. He throws another curse spell, but Akira switches to Bugs and blocks the attack.

“Aren’t _you_ the one who’s underestimating me now?”

“You are so obnoxious,” he growls. “I’ll make you run out of all of your fucking tricks. Loki!”

A massively built, black-and-white striped Persona appears behind him. Long braids fall from his head, a malignant grin spreads on his face, and a giant sword floats and shifts at his command. His movements are impetuous, fast blows that rely on raw energy. It’s nothing like anything Akira would’ve associated with Goro Akechi.

He jumps back to take a breath, but the boiling of his blood just won’t stop. Loki’s presence is breathtaking, the kind of horror that melts down guts into a puddle yet is impossible to tear the eye away from, a heap of wicked fury that borders on madness.

_How is it possible?_

Akechi laughs.

“You think you knew me? You may have discovered something yet it’s far from the whole picture. But it’s enough. You’ll take those bits in your grave.”

He dashes forward, and Akira fires a Triple Down. The recoil makes him flinch, but the offensive throws off Akechi’s focus and averts his next move. And still, he flashes him a wicked grin.

“Megidola.”

Pure light pours into the tunnel.

Akira’s body gets catapulted back and lands on the rails tracing the path on the floor. His skull frenziedly pulses and a cut splits on his forehead with sharp pain, warm blood spilling over his mask and down along his cheek.

He can’t breathe. His bones scream. The world above him is a blur. He swallows one of Takemi’s pills, and his head clears but it’s not enough.

Akechi strides towards him, his steps echo against the concrete wall. The length of his sword stretches mere millimeters from his heaving chest.

“Any last words?”

He smirks.

“Girimehkala.”

The cyclopic elephant trumpets behind him. Akechi’s mouth grimaces, and he drives the sword forward, but the Persona blocks the attack and sends it back to him. Akechi takes the damage and staggers back, one hand clutched to the hilt and the other grasping his waist on his left side.

“You little—”

Akira gets up. His body aches from head to toe, not a single muscle remains quiet.

“You can’t touch me. You can’t shoot me. Curse damage is ineffective.” He coughs. Blood comes up in his throat together with saliva, still, he swallows all the bitterness down. “You can’t win this, Akechi.”

He dashes forward.

Metal clutters and sparks ignite where their blades meet. Akechi’s sword has more range and brute force, but his dagger allows him quicker blows and easier dodging; he’s taken more hits but can count on solid recovery skills; Akechi’s endured less direct damage but his attacks are taking a toll on him.

_Do I really have to kill him?_

It’s an ugly thought. The Phantom Thieves have always taken pride in their method and judgment, and in hindsight not killing Kamoshida was the best choice. Akechi is a murderer at best and a serial killer at worst but killing him would hardly solve anything. _He unlikely did it for fun, anyway._

Akira runs back and puts some distance between them. They’re starting to run low on energy and the supply of healing items it’s far from endless – one way or another the fight has to end. He bites down his lower lips and pain stings like a needle.

Something keeps burning in his gut and urges him to fight, fight, fight, the same magnetic pull that glued his eyes on the air conduct in the production line of Okumura’s Palace.

_It’s not me. It’s him._

He licks chapped lips and the taste of copper smears on his tongue. _If I can feel this, he should feel something mine, too._

He can win the fight.

Winning the fight isn’t the right thing to do.

_I need a stalemate._

Akechi chuckles deeply. “Something inside you changed, hm? I can feel it. You think you have a plan?” He shakes his head and shoves away the jagged sword. “Maybe I could use a little step back, too.”

His body glows and, as if it were liquid slate, the blackness seeps away and evaporates. A blinding white outfit reveals underneath, princely clothes adorned with golden badges and apliqués and a red cape with its end cut in the shape of a dovetail. The black mask is gone, a red beak in its place.

And a new Persona manifests behind him, a fierce man all whites and reds, a crossover between Superman and some super sentai with a bow larger than himself.

_Holy shit._

“You can switch Personas too?”

“Surprised?” He stretches a smile, so wide it’s creepy. “You’re not so unique after all, are you?” His hand, gloved in white, reaches for the mask. “Kouga!”

Akira evades on the side but the bless skill hits the right part of his body and devours everything like a flame ignited by gasoline. He collapses on the floor.

A weight settles on him, the pressure makes his bones crack and throb in pain. He shifts to suppress the scream, but a scorching heat stings his chest. He raises his hands in surrender. The buzz of concentrated energy fills the tunnel.

Akechi’s features are lit by the radiance of his lightsaber, a pale light blue hue that gives his red mask a colder shade, and his hair falls from his head like a short, chestnut curtain. His gloves wrinkle around his fingers clutched against the handle.

“I exploited your weak spot. One push of my sword and you’ll be dead.” He lowers the tip, and it burns the clothes and the most superficial layer of skin. It stinks. “Checkmate.”

“Oh, no,” Akira smirks. He lets the dagger slip out of his sleeve and tickles Akechi’s nape with the tip. “It’s far too early for checkmate.”

The mold-scented air of Mementos, stuffed with dust and burnt garments and spilled blood, flows in and out of his nostrils. Akechi’s eyes shine of a rusted tone of red, the color of dried bloodstains – the same one that’s pulling at the skin on his cheekbones, sticky as residual sea salt after a dive in the ocean.

Akechi bares his teeth.

“I thought the Phantom Thieves didn’t kill.”

“Who knows? Maybe no one’s cornered us enough.” He lowers the dagger, and Akechi winces.

“Don’t sell me that bullshit. You were more than okay letting Takamaki set fire to Kamoshida’s shadow once and for all, yet you didn’t. You’ve made your decision, I saw that” he sneers.

The leather of Akira’s gloves creaks around the metal. The muscle of his shoulders begs for release. The sizzling point of the lightsaber is a sci-fi sword hanging over him.

And it stays still.

Stays still.

Stays.

_Because the bond works both ways._

They can feel what the other is feeling, thoughts included and injury excluded, but death is another matter altogether. Death is something irreversible. And surely Goro Akechi has gone very far with his plan and who the fuck knows what _he_ could pull out if cornered enough, yet he’s too smart not to have considered this.

Akira wets his lips, which Akechi’s pupils keep a close watch on, and lets the mind-muscle memory of countless shadow negotiations kick in.

“How long have you known about us?”

“I had my suspicions since meeting you, but I was certain by Medjed. I needed to test our bond to ascertain how close I could venture, and the only way was following you in the Metaverse. It worked well at first, but it seems I have underestimated the escalation of this.” He shrugs. “Oh well. I guess you would’ve stood in my way sooner or later, anyway.”

“Why—”

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“Doesn’t it?” He presses the dagger past the superficial layers of skin and flesh, and Akechi cries. “Why are you doing all this?”

“Drop the tough act Joker, it’s no use.”

“ _You_ drop the act. I know you must’ve thought about this, Akechi.”

“Of course I have!” He raises the lightsaber and shoves it down into the floor. A rush of pain knocks the air out of his lungs and strains the juncture between his jaw and neck; it becomes a dull pulse. Every heartbeat is a cannon fire in his chest.

Akechi stays still, grabbing his sword, features hidden by the brownish curtain of his hair.

“You’re so infuriating. I hate you.” He clenches against the hilt with both hands and lets his shoulders slouch down on himself. “It’s always so focused, inside you. Positive emotions, negative emotions, even unwanted ones eventually fuel your determination. You’re just the perfect leader, aren’t you? But it would only be natural.” He laughs and the spasms reverberate throughout Akira’s body. “You have everything I was denied even though you’re a recorded criminal. Society hates you; everyone avoids you and still. Still.” His chin shoots up and his glare is ablaze. “It’s easy playing the hero when you have the fucking choice.”

Akira’s hands itch. The tickle spreads up along his arms and shoulders and neck, and sits deep in the back of his mind like a yearning he’s powerless against. His muscles yell to do something but the timing has passed. _Like a lost chance._

“You’re regretting something.”

He huffs. “Can you guess what is it?”

The saber keeps crackling a deafening buzz against his ear.

“That things couldn’t have been different.” He shifts the hand holding the dagger and lowers it away from his nape. “That we… could’ve met earlier?”

“You’re awfully relieved by this.”

_Well, it’s a start._ He takes a deep breath.

“So that’s what’s holding you back, too?”

Red pupils pin him down.

“No. I already made up my mind about that. But this bond complicated everything. What if I killed you and had to face the same fate? Or worse, what if I killed you and my existence would be severed?” His mouth twitches. “I told myself it didn’t matter, but clearly it does, whether I want it or not.”

Akira’s back hurts like hell but he forces his limbs not to move – this is the final climb when the worst’s passed and limbs groan and the top is in sight but falling is still a possibility. He endures it.

Akechi squeezes his eyes shut. He lets go of the sword and the upper half of his body goes lax – back curved, neck hidden between the shoulders, arms loose.

“How are you so calm about this? I don’t get you.” His voice is a breathy hiss. White-gloved hands clutch onto the grey undershirt of his Joker outfit. “Dealing with you is as frustrating as punching water.”

The tip of the red mask beak lingers a heartbeat away from his jaw. Akechi’s shoulders give away a fraction of a jolt that makes the hold on Akira’s shirt to jerk up, and his body seconds the movement like gut instinct. The goosebumps covering the skin of his arms rub against the leather coat. The peak is right there.

He opens his mouth.

Akechi shoves him back on the ground and stands up and Akira’s front body can breathe again. He extracts the saber’s blade from the floor and points the tip against him.

“Don’t. Spare yourself a lecture. I won’t join your group. We’re not suddenly friends.”

He arches a brow. “I thought we were rivals?”

“I can feel it. Quit it.” He lowers the sword. “But I guess we both have to readjust our plans.” He offers him a hand. “Come on. Before the Reaper finds us and ends this ridiculous truce.”

Akira grabs it and meets him eye to eye with a sharp grin.

“Seriously,” Akechi grumbles, “I can’t stand you.”

“Well, my friends lowkey can’t stand me sometimes, too, because they say I talk too much like you.” An angry flame ignites in his chest. “And no, shut up about Ryuji, you don’t even know him.”

Akechi sheathes the sword and stomps down the escalator. Akira follows him to the lower, safe floor.

They settle on the plastic chairs under the waiting spot – a train passes by on the rails on the opposite side, and the plastic shelter vibrates. He piles up all the remaining healing items on the seat between them.

“I didn’t have the time to replenish the stock and I’m low on sp, so. It’s not much.”

He pushes his mask further upon his forehead and strips off his gloves, picks up a bottle of relax gel, uncaps it. The herbal smell fills the air. He slips the coat off and the leather scrapes against the strained skin of his arm. He applies a splotch of gel on the burnt, the icy mixture makes a shiver of pleasure run down his spine. _That bless spell was impressive._

“Thank you,” Akechi snickers, unmasked. His white jacket is unbuttoned, and he’s applying an ointment with bared fingers to a nasty group of bruises on his ribcage. “Your dagger isn’t half bad, either.”

He flashes a cheeky grin and rolls soft gauzes around the arm. “So. Two Personas, huh?”

“It shouldn’t come as a surprising thing for you.”

“They’re not previous shadows though. They’re yours. It’s different.”

He cocks a brow. “I don’t think this is the appropriate moment to discuss this.”

_Just wait until I discover more on my own, then._ Rushes of pain attack his nerves. He clenches his teeth and keeps rolling the bandages, finishes the first layer near the shoulder, and starts back off from his wrist with the second.

Akechi closes the ointment with a light screech, grabs the disinfectant, and pours it over a handkerchief.

“This thing will get worse.”

He presses the fabric against a cut on his side and seals back a whine behind pursed lips and eyes shut closed.

Akira knots the loose ends of the bandage with the help of his canines.

“If it did up until now, it’s reasonable to assume it’s not likely to stop.” He coughs. “Wait, I _did_ sound like you.”

“It’s not necessarily a bad thing but it was indeed unsettling.” He removes the jacket and starts to bandage the cut, passing the roll from one hand to another; the little white crumple appears and disappears around his waist. Faint marks are scattered on the uppermost part of his toned arms where they connect with a pair of shoulders broader than his – which is unusual since Metaverse scars don’t get transferred to the real world, not even when they don’t get healed by magic. _They must be older wounds._

“Stop staring, will you?” Akechi snarls at him. “You still have blood on your face, focus on that.” The scowl grows deeper and a tiny wrinkle forms under his left eye. “Let that retort slip past your lips and you’re done for, Kurusu.”

_Ruffled feathers huh._

_“You just don’t know when to shut up.”_

“Get out of my head then.”

“Oh, you have no idea how much I wish that. Or, wait, maybe you can.”

Akira’s hands itch as if someone flipped an electric switch on. He clenches them steadily to keep the spasms at bay.

“Hey, no need to throw punches.”

He lowers the high collar of his shirt, spoons other relax gel with two fingers, and spreads it on the scorch caused by the scrape of the lightsaber. He lingers on the gland just under the edge of his jaw, which pulses a slow rhythm.

“It’s not like I have a say in this, anyway.” He rubs the leftover gel away with a tissue, grabs the last Takemedic pill, and swallows it – his mind clears further. “I wonder what caused it.”

“Whatever it is, I highly doubt it depends on us.”

“Like there’s some sort of supernatural factor that’s interfering?”

Akechi eyes him, stilled inside as if holding a breath.

“How much do you know about Plato?”

“Who?”

He rolls his eyes. “Have you ever heard about the concept of soulmates?”

“Oh, yes. The red string of fate, right?” He empties a bottle of water on a towel and pats his face with it. “The one person you’re fated to meet and all that.”

“Yes, truth be told every culture has its own interpretation but one of the most ancient conceptualizations of this is to be found in philosopher Plato’s work, in the dialogues of the Symposium.”

_Great, a philosophy lecture._

“Not this much enthusiasm now, Kurusu,” he exhales. “Anyway, I’m not exactly fond of this sentimental nonsense, but the concept behind the myth has its allure and the similarities with our situation are… worth noticing.”

“Okay, go on.”

“I will skim over some details for the sake of simplicity, since, even though you may think otherwise, this isn’t a philosophy or literature lecture.” He shoots him a glare. “It is said that mankind was once divided into three sexes: men, women, and the androgynes – beings that were both. The androgynes had eight limbs, two faces, and everything else. But for this exact reason—”

“The gods were envious. Yadda yadda. And then?”

Akechi clears his voice. “Since the androgynes were considered to be too powerful, the gods split them into two halves – this also meant having more humans who would’ve worshipped them and hence double their tributes. Apollo was tasked to close the bad chop: he turned their faces so they would always see the gash, and closed the skin on the navel. Now, the androgynes were exactly like any other human being, with four limbs, one head, and a soul left incomplete.” He picks the patches’ box and sticks some along his arms. “Thus, people from then on lived their lives desperately searching for their other half, so they could eventually be reunited and experience a feeling of happiness like no others.”

“Cheesy.”

“Disgustingly so. And yet, isn’t it what’s happening? What has been happening for months?”

An invisible hand strangles the pit of his stomach. He draws a patch for himself, moves his fringe back, and applies it on the cut on his forehead.

“But that means if this soulmate thing is true… we’ll live on as one person?”

“Who knows. But do you feel confident enough to exclude the possibility, given the astonishing progression of this bond?”

He swallows. Goosebumps cover his body.

“Exactly,” Akechi nods. “We can’t get past this, we can’t hide, and—”

“If one of us dies the other might follow.”

He puts the white jacket back on and buttons it up in silence. The justice tarot floats above his head, the person holding the libra on the front, and a faded, incomplete version of Igor’s fool on the back – it lacks the details and full coloring, but the outline and some shades are equally in place.

Akira sighs – Igor never mentioned a word about it and the twins know even less. He retrieves the few remaining items and shoves them back into the pockets of his coat; he stands up hides his hands, too.

“We’re going to change Okumura’s heart. How about you?”

He slips on the gloves and tugs at the hems. “I’m not joining you. I can’t be one of you, and this won’t change just because of our situation.”

The air buzzes with dozens of questions yet Akira’s body blocks the words with a lump in his throat, his muscles screaming not to ask. There’s something important he’s not getting. Akechi might be the person behind the mental shutdowns and Kobayakawa’s death but someone else must be the instigator – he would’ve no direct gain from murdering and driving insane all those people, or from anything he did to contrast their group up until now. So, it must fit in the bigger picture of his ‘plan.’ _That word again._

He steps in front of him.

“Okay, so what’s your next move?”

Akechi stands up. “If Okumura’s change of heart succeeds, I need to disappear. Cease to exist. Not a single person in Tokyo will have to know where I am.”

“Why?”

“There’s a conspiracy. I was working for them. We set you up against Medjed and we tampered with the Phansite ranking to show Okumura’s name.”

_“Who could’ve fucking known you’d befriend his daughter.”_

“And I was meant to kill him by the end of next month.”

The world spins. Another train passes by, and the trambling of the ground echoes into his bones.

“Shit. And it would’ve looked as if it were our fault.”

“Precisely. It would’ve been easy, then, to unleash the whole police force on your trails.” He stretches a bitter smile. “It’s nearly impossible to escape from Sae Niijima once she sets her eyes on a target, you know.”

_Even Sae?_

Akechi clenches his fists. “Yes, even her. But you don’t need to worry about that anymore. This bond has blown everything up, and since my plan partly aligned with the conspiracy, might as well defect.” He laughs a strained sound. “I can still get what I want.”

The portrait of a man forms in his mind: bald, sharp features, brownish eyes hiding behind thin glasses with yellow lenses. His stomach twitches. _I know that face._ The where and when are missing but he crossed paths with this person – he could be a public figure, like a politician. _Maybe Yoshida could help me._

“You saw him,” Akechi nods his head in his direction. His voice is flat. “That man.”

“Who’s he?”

The question ignites a spark in his body, a flame that keeps churning in his gut. Akechi is composed if tensed, but if this is a fraction of what he’s feeling towards the bald man, Akira has to bite his tongue not to ask for the whole story.

Akechi takes a breath, a sardonic smile on his face. “Oh, there are various ways to answer that question. From a general perspective, he’s Masayoshi Shido, a rising politician who aspires to be the next prime minister. From my perspective, he’s the one person I despise the most in this world and there’s nothing I couldn’t do to bring him down. As you’ve witnessed for yourself.” He points a finger towards him. “And from your perspective, he’s the reason why you’re here now.”

A bitter taste coats Akira’s tongue and he forces his mouth not to spit out what he’s feeling through Akechi. The missing pieces click back in place: his hometown and an early spring night.

“It was him.” His hands shake. “The creep forcing himself on that woman.”

“It was dark, and it must’ve been a shock, so it’s understandable if you hadn’t him pinned, even more so since the bastard made that his name wouldn’t show up in the official records.” His lips quiver. “But the second I saw the scene I knew it was him. It’s not like old habits tend to die with time, anyway,” he sibilates. Red eyes shoot up and lock with his. “Isn’t that hilarious? Our lives derailed because of the same man.”

_Wait, what if…_

He opens his mouth. Akechi shushes him with a hand.

“Oh, I thought about that. But correlation doesn’t mean causation, Joker. We can’t be sure.”

“But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

He smirks. “Our goal might be aligned in that case.”

Akira offers him his hand. “You back down from murdering Haru’s father, we help you take Shido’s heart. No killing though.”

Akechi stares at his gloved hand and slowly advances his own. “You help me hide from the end of next month and you don’t sell me to the police once this is over. If Shido falls, there will still be a whole network to dismantle.”

“Deal.”

They climb Mementos all the way back to the entrance.

The bright blue of the Velvet Room flickers in his peripheral vision, and Akira stops.

Akechi glances at him. “Something wrong?”

“No, nothing. I was wondering, do you happen to see anything new here? Like a door that clearly doesn’t belong to the environment.”

He frowns. “No, not at all.”

“…I see.”

“Should I?”

“Well, it would’ve made sense,” he mutters. “It’s a long story though. Let’s just head back for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	7. Rank 7

**11/20**

Akira turns on the tv in Leblanc and everyone quiets down. The breaking news jingle resounds in the café, and Haru hugs Mona tighter, squeezed between Ann and Makoto.

Okumura appears on the screen. His mouth is twisted in a grimace and dark circles run under his eyes, his hair is roughly pulled back. He stands up and bows in front of the cameras.

“Thank you to you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to gather here. Today, I’d like to elaborate upon the whole truth behind my company’s labor situation. My employees were forced to work under severe conditions and poor sanitation. And my corporation acted as a whole to cover up the scandal. For all of this, I wholeheartedly apologize.” He bows deep enough for his forehead to brush against the table hosting the microphones. “I am solely responsible.”

Haru’s lips purse together.

A journalist asks for the mysterious illnesses and the overseas expansion.

Okumura nods with his lips curled downward and wrinkled skin on the spot where brows connect to the nose. “About that… I have a critical piece of information to announce today.”

Akira grips the edge of the counter. He shoots a side glance on his right: Akechi sits composed, eyes locked on the TV screen and face blank, with only his eyebrows slightly pinched closer; yet his heart is going crazy and his palms burn under the gloves.

“I… have been an active part in the mental shutdown cases.”

The hair on the back of his neck stands up.

“I didn’t commit them myself, but it was possible to… make requests. Which I did, more than once.” His voice cracks. “Because there is a person who offers—”

The signal interrupts, and a placeholder screen with apologies for the technical difficulties takes its place.

_“Shit, the TV station president.”_

Akira turns to him.

_This is Shido’s doing._

_“Obviously. He extended his claws and made sure that the confession wouldn’t be broadcasted on national television. In case his name should come up, which seemed likely at this point.”_

Haru clears her voice.

“What’s happening?”

She stands between the seats and the counter, hands clenching the hem of her pullover and a frown pressed tight on her eyes.

“It worked, right?”

“It did,” Akechi confirms, “but your father is in danger now. He should be taken into police custody immediately.” He looks to Makoto. “Is Sae ready?”

“On her way,” she nods.

Haru picks up the schoolbag and dials a number on her phone. “Then I’ll go, too.” She stops right in front of them and meets Akechi.

“I won’t forgive your actions, but you’re risking your life to protect my father and I appreciate that. Thank you.” She bows. “Everyone else, I’ll let you know how it’s going as soon as possible. I truly thank you for your support, from the bottom of my heart.”

She runs out of the café, and the door closes behind her with a ring of the bell.

Heat tinges the tips of Akira’s ears. He fights back a laugh.

_How does it feel?_

_“You’re insufferable. Feel it for yourself.”_

* * *

Akira’s body slouches on the subway seat for those few millimeters allowed by the morning crowd. A faint ache blocks his throat and blood pulses in his body with the impulse to _move_ , as if some chemical transformation is happening inside him with no crack to let the heat out.

The train stops at Aoyama-Itchome and he rushes out.

“Monday sucks,” he mutters.

“Doesn’t it always?” Morgana echoes from the bag. “But I did notice you’re particularly stiff this morning. Some trouble with sleeping?”

_The opposite actually._

He taps his fingertips on the checkered pattern of his pants. “No, same as always.”

“Even with a roommate?”

He shrugs. “I already had one.”

“Hey, I don’t take up that much space!” He pops his head out of the zipper and whiskers tickle his ear. “I do have to admit though, Akechi’s a very quiet roommate.”

“Did you expect him to boss around all the time?”

“Well, yes!”

“Me too, honestly,” he chuckles. “But this means the role’s still up to you.”

“I don’t boss around!” he scoffs. “I just help you leading a healthier life, that’s all.”

Akira stops in front of the Shujin gates. No Kamoshida mocking him, no Makoto stalking him, no Haru avoiding him, and even Kobayakawa is gone, yet his muscles won’t stop screaming to _go away._

He takes a breath and crosses the threshold.

Morning classes are bearable.

Lunch break is half meat bun and some sips of soda.

Afternoon classes are a blur of background noises and cold sweat.

The speakers diffuse the sound for the end of the day and Akira jolts up from his seat.

“Maybe you should go see the Doctor,” Morgana whispers.

He shoves the bag on his shoulder and rushes down the stairs. The cold air of late autumn is a balm to his mind, and the grip on his lungs loosens a little.

He steps out in the backstreets of Yongen-Jaya and it’s like waking up from a nightmare. He directs his body straight up and left and enters the clinic.

Takemi raises her eyes from the documents scattered on the reception desk compressed between the two walls and gives him a look.

“Here for a proper visit?”

“Do I look that bad?”

She chuckles. “You looked worse but you’re shaking a bit. Usually, it’s not a good sign. Head to the exam room.”

He lays Mona-bag down and follows her past the door. She grabs the notepad and sits on the chair with her legs crossed.

“What’s wrong?”

He clenches and unclenches his hands. “I don’t feel sick or anything but it’s like my body thinks otherwise.”

“Care to elaborate a little more?”

“Well.” He rubs his nape. “I felt like the usual these past days, and when I woke up today nothing was off. It all started when I was on the metro and then kinda worsened.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Have you eaten this morning?”

“Yes! As usual. But then I skipped lunch. I… didn’t feel like eating.” A light shiver runs down his spine. “I had trouble even with drinking, to be honest. Feels like my whole chest is blocked by something.”

“That’s no good to hear. Any injuries recently?”

He shakes his head.

“Any… ‘other’ injuries?”

“Oh, those usually don’t carry to the real world.”

She clicks the back button of the pen and swings her upper leg. “I’ll do a quick check, just in case. Take off your jacket.”

He sits on the cot. The gelid rubber of the stethoscope on his back makes him shiver. Takemi moves it left and right, up and down, and auscultates his breath. She lightly presses two cool fingers on the pulse point on his throat and checks for a fever with her hand splayed on his forehead.

She writes down some notes. Nods. Points the pen towards him.

“There’s nothing severe going on but your body does seem to be experiencing physical symptoms of a psychological origin: you have a more rapid heart rate, light shaking, and difficulties eating. Are you particularly stressed? Are you sleeping well?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes half-close with a sharp cut. “School? Family? Your other activities?”

“Well, it’s not like everything is perfect but I’d say it’s not where the stress comes from.”

“In any case, it’s not something to worry about in the immediate but you should definitely keep that in check. Try noting down what you feel and come back if it gets worse.” She winks. “I might finally have a good and legal reason to prescribe you those pills _for your studies_.”

He slips the blazer back on and gets off from the cot. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll let you know if something happens.”

He picks up the bag and walks home. Morgana comes out and presses his paws onto his shoulder.

“So?? What did she say?”

“Nothing’s wrong per se but apparently I’m feeling worried. I’ll come back if it gets worse.”

He opens the door to Leblanc and it’s as if the air inside is fresher and purer than the one outside. The intangible stone weighing on his shoulders crumbles and the knot strangling his chest opens up. The relief comes as a shockwave that makes his head so light, he has to grab the jamb to stand still.

Sojiro shoots him a look.

“You okay kid? You look like someone who’s just been blessed with universal knowledge.”

“Yeah – I’ll go upstairs.”

He keeps his head low and climbs the creaky staircase.

Akechi is leaning on the working desk, his palm splayed to sustain his body, head compressed between his shoulders and one leg crossed behind the other. His white shirt has the sleeves rolled up and irregularly overflows from the slacks at some points. Deep red eyes lock with his.

“We have a problem.”

 _Here we go again._ He keeps his from rolling.

“Well, that’s a new one.”

“Very funny, but sadly useless. Not only I’m stuck here but it will be a much less metaphorical suffering than I anticipated. Great.”

His forehead is slightly wrinkled, lips curled down in just a tiny curve, yet Akira’s nerves ignite, his gut being consumed from the inside. He lets his bag slip on the floor to allow Mona to go out and nods towards the library corner. Morgana eyes him but trots to the opposite side of the room and curls under the plant.

Akira takes a step forward. Akechi blocks him with a hand.

“I know that attitude. Spare yourself some bile and don’t come here thinking you can solve everything.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Yours is enough for two.”

He glares at him, but his lips crack in a half-smile.

“How you’re the leader is beyond me.”

“He’s not this obnoxious usually,” Morgana chirps. “Not this much. You’re pretty special.”

“My, thank you.” He stands straighter and leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “Skip over the peep talk, I sensed enough of that. What did the doctor tell you?”

“She will prescribe me something if this worsens.”

“Which it will.”

“Yeah. But I think real medicines should be good enough to keep the symptoms at bay.”

_We can share._

Akechi looks away.

“Thank you, but I can endure it. For some time, at least.”

_“It wouldn’t be the first time, either.”_

“You’re the one who needs concentration the most now – between school and other chores, we can’t afford you to get distracted or worse, spotted.”

“You don’t deserve to freak out though.”

He huffs and scrolls his shoulders. “I won’t. You would need much more for that.” His eyes turn back on him. “We shall tackle the real matter: Shido’s Palace.”

Akira wets his lips. “Did you already visit it?”

“A few times, yes. It’s located on the Diet Building and takes the form of a gigantic cruise ship.”

He plays with his fringe. “A ship?”

“Oh, it will make sense once you see it.” He stretches a grim smile. “What’s the plan?”

“We meet tomorrow with everybody else. Is Shido aware he has a Palace?”

“Most likely. It would be strange if he didn’t.”

“So, the area will be guarded.”

Akechi pinches his chin between fingers. “Someone should go there to recon.”

“I can go!” Morgana claims. His tail flaps left and right. “With the situation as it is now, you two should avoid separating if it’s not necessary. I can fit in a bag, so anyone could bring me there.”

“Right,” he mutters, “the Diet Building it’s a public place, a landmark, it wouldn’t be strange if some students strolled past or took photos for whatever school business.”

“Yes!”

“Moreover, if we send someone more unassuming such as Okumura or Niijima, they could even let you out of the bag to do a proper scouting.”

Morgana stretches his slim figure. “That much I can do. As easy as drinking water.”

Akira seals a chuckle between his lips but a huff escapes from his nostrils. Akechi glares at him.

“What do _we_ do in the meantime?”

He digs out his phone. “I’ll let the group know about the plan so someone can come here to pick up Morgana.” He sends the message and pockets the phone back. Smirks. “And we do our ‘homework.’ We need more medicines, an infiltration plan, and tools.” He raises his palm in the air. “Hope you’re ready to dirty your hands, _Goro_.”

Akechi smirks for one. “Honestly, _Akira_ , my hands have long since been dirtied.” He meets his hand mid-air with a loud clap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	8. Rank 8

**11/22**

Outside the ship, crumbled buildings emerge from the sea in a desolation that makes Akira’s blood run cold.

_It’s the apocalypse._

He grabs the gelid metal banister and droplets splash on his face from the prow parting the waters. What remains fo majestic skyscrapers form the broken version of the Tokyo skyline, their rubbles get moved out of the way by the cruiser progressing forward in the endless horizon.

“Man,” Ryuji mutters, “what the hell.”

Akira steps away from the banister and reaches the head of the group.

“We’ll do the usual scouting, but I doubt we’ll have time to head back and adjust plans, so we’ll build the formation accordingly. The fewer infiltrations, the better.” His eyes dart between Morgana, Ann, and Makoto. “I’ll be counting on you for the healing. I can provide support if needed, and we’re good on coffee and curry stocks. Let’s go.”

They push open the heavy golden plates of the main door and tread inside.

The interior is a vast main hall divided into different floors with imposing statues on each side of the main staircase, all marbles and golds and luxurious carpets. Electoral posters cover the walls from floor to ceiling, and huge speakers spread Shido’s speeches at an aching volume. The area is crowded by people in formal dressing all wearing masks.

His skin crawls with Goro’s disgust, and his head lightens with a sense of deja-vu like this is a scenario he played into too many times to count with little or no variations.

_“The gatherings were the main places where he talked to his ‘investors’,” he supplies. “I would join only the most private meetings though. Most times he wanted me to attend the parties just to keep an eye on me and boss me around. Just the members of the innermost circle know who’s been his lapdog all these years.”_

Akira turns to him. “Are you good?”

He glares at him through the red lenses of his black mask. “How I feel is irrelevant, Joker. What’s important now is to get through this.”

Ann breathes out a nervous laugh and points to the crowd. “At least we’ll fit more into the mood this time.”

They climb the marbled steps covered in red velvet; a guard blocks their path and transforms into a white lion-like shadow. Tiny pupils dot the fluorescent yellow hue of his eyes and sharp fangs come out of his mouth. The beast waves his muzzle with a deep growl and the candid mane flaps left and right.

Akira takes the lead and positions in front of the group. He dodges a blast of fire and rolls to the side. _He’s probably weak to ice but I can’t risk it with Yusuke._

“Noir, that’s on you!”

“Roger!”

“Crow, prepare for—”

A burst of rage hits him in the stomach with the force of a real punch. Goro is clenching the hilt of the jagged sword, his body tensed in battle stance, but no Persona materializes behind him.

_Oh, fuck._

_“You said that.”_

He darts back from another Maragydine spell.

“Panther, cover for me a sec. Keep it busy.”

“I’m on it!”

He turns to Goro. “You can still fight melee, right?”

“I’m not suddenly incompetent, Joker,” he snarls. “I’ll tear my way through this Palace one way or another, whatever the fuck the bond has to say.”

“I have a plan then.”

His hand runs to his mask, but the words get stuck in his throat. Something is interfering in his soul, an angry background noise that shifts his focus like a thought occupying his mind that prevents him to really grasp the meaning of what he’s reading. _It’s Goro’s rebellious will._ It’s a mere buzz but it’s there and it will only get worse as time passes. He grits his teeth and presses further. He met Goro Akechi only months ago but because of the bond it feels like years, and it might be a disastrous fate that they have to break free from, yet it twisted the turn of events in a way he alone couldn’t probably achieve.

He heaves his breathings. It’s just a rock in the flow – and even when it eventually becomes a dyke, he’ll find the cracks to slip through and move forward.

His being shifts and the mask disappear from his face in a flicker of blue flames.

“Rangda!”

Adrenaline rushes in his body.

“Panther, with me. We’ll block the fire blasts and grab his attention. Crow and Noir, out with the artillery.”

He and Ann deal with the flames and screen the other two attacking from behind.

The Cerberus exhales its last cry and vanishes into a black mist.

“Yes!” Ann prompts him with a high-five. “Good one, Joker.”

“Thanks.”

He gathers the group back in assembly. All the eyes shoot between Goro and him. He pinches his chin in thought.

“Hey Oracle, does it result to you that Crow is afflicted with the forget status?”

“Negative,” she shakes her head. “You’re all perfectly fine.”

“Figures. Well, it was worth a try.”

“Does it have to do with your… connection?”

“Most likely,” Goro kicks in. “It does work like a forget status. Rationally I know what to do, but my mind seems off.” He smiles through gritted teeth. “But I won’t let this get in my way.”

“If you’re so sure…” she mumbles. “I don’t think it’s the best for you to have only close-range options though.”

“As if such a thing could matter—”

Akira steps in front of him.

“It does.”

“This is not the time to be sentimental.”

“I’m not being sentimental, I’m improvising.” He catches red pupils with his. “You have to learn how to negotiate.”

He flinches. “How what?”

“Negotiate with shadows. It’s how I gather other Personas beside mine.”

“Really,” he sneers, “I don’t know if I should be flattered or annoyed. This isn’t exactly the best situation to carry out experiments, Joker. We’re short on time.”

Akira swallows back a groan. _God knows if you’re stubborn._

_“You’re the one to talk. Do we really have time for this?”_

_Yes._

_“And who is taking care of the scouting, pray tell?”_

_The rest of the team? Duh._

Goro flinches. Akira restrains a smile.

“Will you listen to me?”

“You’re feeling so victorious it’s irritating.” He rolls his eyes. “Okay, as you wish. I’ll indulge you. But if nothing comes out of it by the time the others are finished, we’re progressing _my way._ ”

“Uhm, dudes,” Ryuji waves a hand, “care to let us know what your freaky psychic minds are thinking?”

Akira steps back in the center of the group.

_“Such a reliable leader.”_

_Shut up and listen to what your leader says._

“All right, that’s the plan: we’ll split up for now.” He gestures to Morgana. “Mona comes with me and Crow. Do you think you can help me teach him shadow negotiation?”

“Well, I’ve taught you, I sure can help you teach him.”

“Great.” He points to Makoto and Futaba. “You two are in charge of the team now. Scout the area, find the Palace map and try to fight only when indispensable. Where is the nearest batch of enemies, Oracle?”

“I’m getting medium-weak readings from up above, so I’d say the upper floors of this hall.” She types on the holo-keyboard and nods. “Nothing should be a problem for you three, especially if you can still switch Personas. But be careful.”

“Will do. Let’s regroup as soon as you’re finished. We won’t move past this area.”

The group walks away and proceeds down a corridor. Goro faces him and opens his arms to ask for a demonstration.

“So, enlighten me.”

“Well, the process goes more or less like this: you ambush a shadow, exploit their weak spot, or beat them up – the important thing is to make them beg for their life. Once they’re on their knees and you’re the one holding the gun, you ask them to join your cause. The shadow will then decide if they’ll at least listen to you or not.” He bites his lower lip. “It’s not granted. With the others never worked – they can ask for money or items, and they often cover for me if I slip up, but not a single shadow ever listened to them when they suggested that, so. We have to try that first.”

Morgana points the golden saber towards a guard patrolling the area.

“I think that should be feasible. It smells weak enough.”

Goro scrutinizes them.

“It might be worth a try, at least. All right, I’ll follow you.”

Akira slithers against the wall and crouches down under a table with a daruma on top of it. The shadow treads past him, and he jumps at its back and unmasks it. A young lady raises from the melting – her skin is as pale as wax, in contrast with her hair of a strong pink hue. Some delicate veil with golden hems flutter from her head, and her hands rest joined in prayer.

Morgana climbs on a pillar and scans the field.

“Parvati’s weak to curse. That’s on you, Joker!”

_Sweet._

“Arsène!”

He sends an Eiha spell against the shadow, right in the chest to make it stumble down on the carpeted floor. He unsheathes the gun and points it to the enemy, joined by Morgana’s slingshot and Goro’s silenced pistol.

The Parvati looks up at them with watery eyes.

“S-someone help! What do you want from me?”

He nods to Goro, who takes a step forward.

“Join my cause.”

Akira holds his breath. The silence weighs like a boulder.

The shadow bats her lashes and scrutinizes them.

“Well, we must talk things over first. I know nothing about you, after all. I’m always bothered when others interrupt me. Won’t you just leave me be?”

“Yes!” Morgana flaps his tails and ears. “That shadow looks scared. Try comforting her.”

Goro lowers his gun in the slightest. “Is that reverse psychology?”

The Parvati glares at him. “Are you fooling me?!”

A bullet fired from the slingshot races past her head and buries in the wall behind.

“Now it’s not the time to lose our composure, is it?”

“Fine… why are you doing all this? Would it be better not to fight?” she pouts.

_Don’t be rude. Try making her happy._

_“How?”_

_I don’t know, say something nice? You’re supposed to be the prince charming here._

Goro takes a breath.

“We don’t have much choice.”

She takes a step back. “Oh, I see. Here, you can have these!” She tosses them some yen coins. “And thanks for sparing my life!” She waves them her rosy palms and vanishes.

Akira puts away the gun. Morgana trots near them and crosses his arms.

“That was your conception of comforting someone?!”

Goro ignores him and his eyes lock with Akira, their cut pressed tighter under a frown.

“You make it sound easy, but I do have to admit it’s a tricky thing.”

Akira scratches the back of his neck. “Uhm, how do I put it. It’s a matter of flexibility, I think? Adaptability. You have to be ready to second the shadow’s behavior.”

“One could suppose it should be easy – as easy as it is with people, I mean.” He lays his chin on the back of his hand. “Yet I find that with shadows it’s a completely different story. It’s almost as if I unconsciously don’t want to compromise, just—”

“Slaughter.”

His lips flatten in a thin line. “Yes, exactly,” he exhales.

“Well,” Morgana shrugs, “maybe you just have to find the right one for you. Shadows aren’t one and the same – they can have different personalities, just like humans do. They are a product of cognition, after all.”

“Did you pull that out of some teen romance?”

“What did you say?!” he hisses.

Akira steps in between them. “Wait, I think it’s not a bad idea. Might actually be worth trying.” He activates the third eye. A guard dog with a yellow aura around the body walks back and forth near the other side of the circular floor. “Over there. Let’s do a second try.”

They succeed in the ambush, and another Cerberus comes out. He switches to Rangda, lets the dagger slip out from his sleeve, and clenches the handle.

“I don’t have ice coverage for this one – be ready for a brawl, and don’t hit too hard.”

Few well-calculated blows and the white lion is on the ground.

“Help me. Me won’t tell Lord Shido.”

Goro huffs. “Lend me your power, then.”

The beast nods. “Then let’s talk. Once me understand you, me lend you my power.” It sniffs around. “After me look closer, me can see you really young human. You not even alive that many years. Why you fight and put yourself in harm’s way?”

_He could bite the head off your neck if you crack a joke. Be serious about this._

Goro tightens the grip around the handler.

“Because I see an enemy.”

The lion chuckles a deep grunt. “Everybody do that, yes. We do for our defense. And you tell me, what you do after you have my power?”

“That’s good,” Morgana whispers, “don’t mess up.”

_Tha shadow’s starting to like you. Go on._

“That’s obvious,” Akechi adjusts the aim. “I’ll keep fighting.”

“Oh!” Cerberus growls, “you dangerous human. You warrior. Me like you – mh! Me remember now.” It raises back on its paws and stands, regal. “Me am not a shadow that belongs here. Me am Cerberus. My power is your power: use it as you want.”

The shadow gets engulfed by lights and flies straight up into Goro’s mask. He flinches back and waves a hand in front of his face as if being blinded.

Akira runs to him and Morgana follows the trail.

“So?” they ask together.

He frowns. “Is it normal to find it intrusive?”

“Not exactly. But it’s a start.” Akira snickers. “And besides, I’m in your head since this summer, I didn’t think you still cared for privacy and personal boundaries.”

He smiles. “I wouldn’t push your luck too far, Joker. I can literally incinerate you now.”

_In hindsight, it should’ve been obvious you’d get along well with irritable shadows._

_“Something to say on the matter?”_

He throws his hands up. _Absolutely nothing, honey._

The air swooshes and metal whistles. Akira blocks Goro’s bloody red sword with his dagger. Goro leans forward and the tip of his helmet threatens his cheek.

“Care to bet how much time I need to surpass you now?”

“I fight like this since I awakened Arsène.” He smirks. “But I’d love to see you try.”

“Oh, I’m a fast learner.”

“I’m looking forward to it, then.”

“Of course,” he smiles, sharp. With the pressure from the sword, he prompts him to move backward. “So, Arsène was the first one, was it?” He huffs. “He suits you.”

His back hit one of the pillars, the muscles in his arms begging for rest. He endures the unforgiving push of the blade and keeps it at bay.

“Because he’s a classy, old-fashioned outcast?”

“Because he’s no white knight bringing justice,” Goro whispers. “I find that interesting.”

“I didn’t want to be a superhero, you know,” he taunts. “Just wanted to save a friend.”

The press intensifies. “How noble.”

He swallows, throat aching dry. The rest of the Palace is but a blur behind the pointy frame of Goro’s black outfit. The scent of leather fills his nostrils.

“What was for you then?” he breathes out, inclining the dagger to force the jagged sword a bit aside. “Which one came first?”

Reddish eyes blow wide, pupils traveling up and down his face with flashed bolts.

“Oh, would you like to know.”

Something raw churns in his gut, and Akira opens his mouth to ask.

Goro lowers the sword and steps back.

“Enough of that now. We need to regroup and proceed onward.”

He treads back toward the main hall.

The point of Akira’s ears burn, and his fingers mindlessly ghost over his lips.

“Joker?” Morgana inquires, “are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just – well that burst was uncalled for, but Crow didn’t seem to really want to hurt you.”

He shrugs. “No. There was just something on his mind, I guess. I couldn’t grasp what.”

Morgana rolls his eyes and walks away, too. “You two sure are weird as hell…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	9. Rank 9

**12/19**

Akira wakes up with pincers clenching around the pit of his stomach.

He turns under the duvet and faces the wall. The skin between his shoulder blades prickle. He rolls on his other side, towards the room: Goro sits near the stove, legs crossed and back curved forward. He plants an elbow near his knee to sustain his head, and the hem of his oversized pullover slides further down from his shoulder, revealing a t-shirt underneath. His right arm moves and there’s a faint sound of pages flipping. Akira focuses more and the justice tarot appears on his head – front as usual, back nearly a perfect replica of the fool, with just the smaller details missing.

_“Staring is rude, you know.”_

_You woke me up. What’s wrong?_

A chaotic wave hits him, heavy with speculations, like a flooding river that clashes against the barrier of his teeth so that those thoughts can’t get past his mouth. He rubs his eyes and stretches to grab his phone: the screen lights up with a black-on-white 3.06 a.m. He sighs.

_I have my finals starting tomorrow._

_“Then take the pills and go to sleep.”_

_You’re the worst._

He moves around Morgana curled up on the futon and slips out from the covers. The gelid planks of wood creak with his weight, and his body shivers in the chilly air. He sneaks toward the heater and sits on the floor beside Goro, who keeps his attention cast on the book – a bulky volume with western letters printed on the right page and some strange glyphs printed on the left.

_“It’s Greek. Ancient Greek more precisely.”_

_God, you’re so pretentious._ He peeks over his shoulder at the thick lines of tiny letters. _English and Greek?_

_“The editions with parallel text are nicer, usually. What do you want?”_

“That you tell me what’s wrong.” His voice is hoarse with sleep. He clears his throat. “It’s three in the morning and you’re crouched on the ground reading Plato emanating a dreadful aura.” He spreads his palms to grasp more heat from the stove. “Goro—”

He closes the book with a soft thud. “All right,” he whispers. His head shoots up, face split between the warm light on his right and the colder tone on his left coming from the window. “We’ll do this your way but use the condescending tone again and I swear I’m going out there in the snow and travel out of Tokyo at the cost of dragging myself on the floor when I won’t be able to walk anymore.”

Akira’s mouth curls in a grimace. “That’d be painful, yeah.”

“And besides,” he grumbles, “you already feel everything you need to know.”

He moves his body closer to Goro with a shuffle of his sweatpants on the floor and nudges his shoulder against him, whose breath hitches by a fraction.

“What are you doing?”

“Invading your physical personal space,” he deadpans with a grin. “Since I already own nearly half of the mental one.” His cheeks relax back to a flat smile. “It’s because of the bond and Shido, isn’t it?”

He shrugs. “Well, we knew already that it was pure speculation. A hypothesis. We tested it, it didn’t work. Such is life.”

“But we’re clueless at this point. Not good.”

Goro looks at him. “It’s clear that this bond won’t stop. We need the strongest pills just to survive a normal day if we’re separated, what will come next? What if I’ll never be able to live elsewhere but by your side?”

Akira seals his lips and takes the blow. _Would it be that bad?_

“It would.” He puts aside the book and his gaze, severed by a scowl, is still on him. “And nonetheless, you’re so calm about this. It seems it doesn’t matter how many chains the world puts around you, you’re always ready to adapt in some way. I hate it.”

“Sorry, it’s just – I can’t help it.” He curls his legs and rests his chin on the knees. “Usually, life throws something at me and before I know it, it’s become a part of me in some way.” He huffs. “With you, it’s just… more literal than usual.”

The stove buzzes, a low tone that hammers in the silence of the attic. Akira brushes one foot on the other to generate some warm friction.

“I feel that you can’t stand the situation, but would you honestly say it’s a disgrace? I can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if we didn’t have this.”

“It’s no use let your mind wandering around what-ifs.” He shakes his head. “But I admit I’ve thought about that, too. How your influence inevitably ended up changing me.”

“It did?”

He laughs. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be a mutual thing, but personally, I didn’t feel that much difference.”

“Oh, your fighting in the Metaverse says otherwise. Try checking with your friends. The faces they made sometimes are quite hilarious.”

His cheeks burn. “Really?”

“Yes, it’s funny seeing your composure crack. Satisfying, if I must say.”

Akira elbows him. “You’re still dodging the question.”

The smirk washes off Goro’s face, and his head lowers.

“Your feelings were the main problem. It all started as a crippling sense of guilt and it only kept spiraling out of control.” He puts his palms back to sustain his body and slouches a bit. “When I had to kill Kobayakawa I was terrified my fingers couldn’t pull the trigger.”

“But you did it anyway in the end.”

He looks away. “I just told myself it was well deserved since he was not only about to betray the conspiracy, but also overlooked the whole scandal with Kamoshida, covering for him and sending Niijima after you like a guard dog.”

“You – that’s what you were thinking?” He clenches and unclenches his fists. “That’s why your hands were shaking.”

“Pathetic, right?” He stretches his legs until few centimeters from the heater and Akira’s own feet prickle with the scorching temperature. “Well, Okumura’s been a nightmare – literally. I kept dreaming about his daughter. Every night, until I had enough and intercepted you in the Palace.”

“It was intentional!”

“It obviously was Akira, I have been at this for three whole years – how do you think I always escaped both Sakura’s radars and Morgana’s sniff? I was precisely at the verge of the bond’s radius: few steps closer and you would’ve spotted me, few steps farther and you wouldn’t even notice.”

Akira adjusts his body to better face him.

“I’m glad you did it.”

“Yes,” he sighs, “I can feel that.” He rubs his heel against the floor and the old planks rub against the sock’s fabric. “Well, I guess there’s no point in hiding behind a finger anymore.” He sits straighter, with his legs crossed again, and looks at him. “You are right, and this bond may have brought good things, but sometimes, I find myself wishing it never existed.” The corners of his lips curl down. “My decisions were undoubtedly influenced by you, and one could say it’s been for the best. If so, were those decisions truly mine, I wonder?”

A knot tangles in the middle of Akira’s throat, a cold shiver runs down his spine.

“This is what’s keeping you awake.”

He smiles grimly. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve just noticed it. It’s been haunting me for weeks – but, truth be told, it never kept me up at night before now.” He plays with the side of the book, flipping the pages. “I guess my heart secretly hoped in Shido’s downfall to be the end of this.”

Akira leans closer to him. “And that’s another thing you can’t stand, right? That I seem to tread my path no matter what, and you had to subvert yours.”

Goro stands up and puts the book away on his side of the shelf. His hand grabs the metal bar sustaining the structure.

“I cannot live like this, Akira. I wasted the past three years pursuing an act of revenge I now see as hollow, but it still was what fueled me and kept me going at the time. You can say it was the wrong choice, even the worst choice if you will, but it was mine. My life, my mistakes, my crimes.” He turns to him with a scowl on his face. “I wasn’t free like you, but I had an agency. Now I lack even that. And I’m ready to chop this bond the painful way if I must.”

Akira gets up with his fists clenched.

“What about Shido though? He lied to you all this time – you heard him in the treasure room. He was going to get you killed as soon as the election would’ve been won.”

Goro lowers his gaze and the tip of Akira’s ears turn hot. “As if changing his heart has solved anything. The population is so brainwashed they keep confiding in him as a leader. It’s disgusting.”

“It is. And I don’t know if we still can do something about it.” He offers him his hand. “But we made a deal. And half of my end’s still missing. We’ll solve this, too.”

The hand gripping his is cold like they’re out in the snow of December, fingers clenching in a vicious hold. His chest aches to let the words out – he takes a breath and wets his lips.

“I always wanted to ask you something.”

Goro nods. His eyes scrutinize him. “Go on.”

“Back in June, in the TV studio… did the host of the interview really pick me by chance?”

A sharp smile. “I know you know the answer.”

Akira blinks. _The hallway the day before._

“You scheming bastard,” he chuckles. “And you still blame me for everything?”

Goro raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you hadn’t been arguing with your friends in the middle of a tv studio, you wouldn’t have caught my attention.” He sighs and shakes away his hand. “But who knows. Maybe it was truly fate to meet you and all this soulmate bullshit does, in fact, exist.”

He steps away. Akira’s blood boils, and he grabs him by the wrist.

“I don’t care,” he says, voice overlapping with Goro’s “How would you know?”

Akira squeezes harder. “Because I feel it.”

He sneers. “How do you parse that from mine?” He yanks his wrist free and strides back to him. Akira’s back gets pushed against the bookcase, the hard edge of the shelf cutting through his shoulder blades. Goro’s chest heaves heavily. “How can you be sure it’s not the bond’s doing?”

Akira’s heartbeat skyrockets.

“How can you be sure it _is_?”

Hands clench around the edge of the shelves and trap him further in. Goro leans his forehead on his collarbone, and his breathings make a faint breeze through the nightshirt. Akira’s fingers itch with the need to move but he shoves them into the pockets of the sweatpants and stays still.

“You have a nice inner fight going on. I appreciate the conflict.”

“Will you just shut up?” he grumbles. Red eyes shoot up, glowing in the half-darkness, knocking his breath away.

Akira opens his mouth.

Goro presses it closed with his.

The familiar scent of the bathhouse solid soap fills everything, mingled with the roast of coffee and the stuffy dust of the attic and a faint hint of lavender, courtesy of the laundromat’s detergents. Bits of Yongen-Jaya attached to him in the last month, filling up the spots Akira couldn’t reach.

He savors those lips, clenches against Goro’s old pullover, and lets his mind wander.

_How close is too close?_

Fingers entangle in his hair. The body they belong to is a perfect match for his own.

_“I’m sure we can do better than this.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	10. Rank 10

**12/24**

The back corridor of the Velvet Room opens before him.

Akira lays against the wall for support and pants. Every breath is a sting in his chest. _Lavenza said the others are here._ He takes the first steps and forces his body to tread forward. _I have to find Goro._

He lets the pull of their connection guide him as an ingrained movement reproduced by muscle memory. Right, left, right. The tension eases into a calmer heartbeat.

He proceeds straight on and reaches a lonely cell inset on the right side of the wall. Behind the bars, Goro sits with his back against the stone, head tilted back. He wears the black striped outfit, but no helmet nor mask covers his face.

“Here you are,” he breathes out. “Came to rescue me?”

Akira smirks. “Like the hero I am.”

“Then help me get out of here. I’ve waited long enough.”

The metal door disappears in a sparkle of blue flames, and Akira offers him a hand, which Goro grasps and stands back up.

“The others?”

“Here somewhere.” He gestures toward the maze of corridors. “I have to find them, too.”

He nods. “If you’ll have to talk, I’ll keep my distance.”

“It won’t be for long. All this, I mean.”

“Did you discover anything?”

“Yeah… it’s been a god indeed. All this time.”

Goro bursts into a peal of rasping laughter. “This is insane. The gods should fucking decide if they want humanity split into individuals or united as a whole being.” His helmet and mask materialize back. “At least we know our target now. Nothing better for a Christmas Eve.”

“It’ll be painful. Severing the bond.”

The words are out on their own. Goro frowns at him. Akira swallows the lump.

“Lavenza – the person who explained a bit of the situation to me – said it won’t be a smooth procedure, to separate our souls. Essentially, she said they were indeed undergoing a sort of fusion process which needs to be stopped. But it’s difficult that everything will return as it were before.”

“I see…” he pinches his chin in thought. “Like chemical reactions. You can split something into two or more parts, but the sum of the gained products won’t result in the exact starting element. Something gets lost in the meantime – or rather, it turns to energy.”

He blinks. “Well… yeah. That sounds about it.”

“Did she tell you how it all started?”

Akira bites down his lower lip. “No, but another person did. Someone I used to trust. Turns out he was pretending to be someone else all this time.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, basically there were these two god-like beings who made a sort of bet.” He raises his index. “One, the god of control, that is the Graal we fought in Mementos, argued that humans cannot be saved and are doomed to perish by their own hands.” He adds his middle finger. “The other, the true master of this Velvet Room, believed in humanity and chose a trickster to fight in its name and overturn the odds.” He brushes his fingertips on Goro’s chest. “Yaldabaoth, the false god, chose you. While Igor, the other one, chose me.” He shrugs, and a bitter smile spreads on his lips. “Or, well, at least this is what I got. I hope Lavenza will explain things more.”

Goro’s upper lip quivers. “So, you’re telling me all this mess is due to some asshole who wanted to play chess with us?” His fist clench and Akira grabs his wrist to prevent him from punching the wall.

“Talk about free will, huh?”

“Oh, I’d have a lot to say about that, but I will take what I can get now.” His shoulders relax. “How do we end the bond?”

“Basically, when I first entered here, I made a sort of ‘contract.’ Once Yaldabaoth is defeated and the Metaverse is erased, my contract will be rescinded as well, so all the conditions keeping us connected will cease to exist.” He lowers his head. “As I said, it’ll hurt apparently, but it’ll be definitive. No turning back.”

“And you’re sad about that. God, you’re so sentimental.”

“Well, at least I have a heart.”

He moves the pointed black mask over Goro’s helmet and does the same with his own.

“I’m sad because I’ve gotten used to you. And also, we still hadn’t had the rematch with full wildcards powers for that duel in Mementos, back in November.” He flashes a cheeky grin. “Which, by the way, wasn’t a stalemate. I won.”

Goro’s eyes ignite. “You little—”

Akira kisses him shut.

* * *

Mementos shatter and the whole Shibuya cracks like broken glass.

Goro stands across from the street, Morgana by his side. Akira’s mouth is dry, his heartbeat an aching tempo.

_I can’t lose them both._

_“I’m not dying, Akira.”_

A fracture in the asphalt cuts the street into two.

“I know!”

_I’ll miss you._

Goro looks at him but into Akira’s head, his voice is silent. The corners of his eyes start to prickle.

“Let me know what you’ll be at.”

He smiles. “We made a deal. And half of my end’s still missing.” He gestures Morgana to climb on his shoulder. “I need to go now, or I won’t escape in time once the situation settles down.”

The bloody rain gathered on the ground like a river evaporates and turns into light.

Akira’s heart seizes.

_He’s free now._

His knees hit the floor, and he pants and gasps, but the breathings can’t keep up with the pain.

_At least he’s free now._

His vision blurs. Goro staggers on the opposite side of the street, his frame reducing little by little, with Morgana as a mere blotch of light on his shoulder.

Someone screams his name. A group of people surrounds him. He doesn’t know how it feels to get a limb amputated, but the image in his mind sure is fitting.

_Nothing will ever be like before._

The lights all die, and he blacks out on the cold pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes)


	11. Epilogue

Akira spins the pencil between his fingers. The equations stare back at him all and the same, with numbers and letters and fractions that overlap in his vision. He stretches on the chair and scratches the spot onto Morgana’s head between the ears.

“Think I’ll take a pause.”

“Better for it to be just a quick break,” he grumbles with just one blue eye opened.

He slides the window open and lays on the wooden sill. A chilly gust of winds ruffles his fringe and brings forth the clear smell of fresh air and the earthy scent of fields. He lays his cheek on the palm of his hand.

“Home sweet home, huh.”

A quick ring trills throughout the room. He drags his feet to the futon and retrieves the phone.

An unknown number has sent him an invitation to start a chat. He frowns. _Has Mishima given away my number again?_

A thud hits the floor, and Morgana meows loudly.

“What’s that?”

“What’s _what_?”

“That… thing!”

Akira turns on his heel: a crumpled piece of paper, the size of a tennis ball, lays near the chair legs. He picks it up and undoes it: a black leather glove is folded inside, and a short message is scribbled quickly on the sheet.

_‘That number’s mine. You still owe me a rematch.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi deena, it was your christmans gift but if you made it until the end, I am the one who has to thank you x)  
> Your prompt was challenging but I had fun with it and I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it - which is the real point in the end. Sorry again for the wordiness but things kinda slipped out of my control near rank 6 ^^"
> 
> To whoever else happens to read this: thank you!  
> My twitter is [@saikolikes](https://twitter.com/saikolikes), mainly Persona 5 mixed with various things and just a pinch of life blogging.


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